Summerfall
by Lolajay
Summary: Sam Winchester is 11 almost 12 , and he knows all about time, and how at this moment it’s slipping through his fingers like sand.


_**Disclaimer**:_ I don't own Supernatural or the awesomeness that is Sam and Dean. I also do not own _Treasure Island,_ that belongs to Robert Louis Stevenson.

**Summerfall**

Sometimes it feels like life, or fate, or the powers of the universe, whatever or whoever it is, loves to just take things away. Things that he knows can never be replaced. And sure, that sounds a tad mellow dramatic, but the truth of the matter is that you can't replace _time_. You just can't, at least not without some sort of flux capacitor and a Delorian (_man, what he wouldn't give for one of those babies right about now)_.

Sam Winchester is 11 (_almost 12)_, and he knows all about time, and how at this moment it's slipping through his fingers like sand.

The air is muggy in the small, sparsely filled room, tinged yellow by the blinding afternoon sun that is managing to bleed through the cracks in the curtains. The window has been open for a while, although Sam doesn't understand why anymore. He'd been hoping for some fresh air, but it's like the wind has given up trying to penetrate through the stifling, sticky fog that seems to be clinging to everything. _Weather sucks _he thinks as he grabs a pencil. _July sucks. Summer freaking sucks. _

He's fully aware that his thoughts seem to sound like their coming from that petulant 5 year old that still rears his ugly head every so often; Sam doesn't care. _I DON'T CARE _he screams in his head, directing his anger and frustration to his brother, who is no doubt outside swimming. Maybe if he thinks hard enough he can direct his silent threats and resentments straight into his brother's brain and make the gray matter melt out his ears. It could work, its hot enough. At least the stupid weather would be working with him instead of torturing him. He smiles to himself, pleased with his plan to exact revenge on Dean and more importantly, Dean's stupid friend Kyle. So, yeah, he's still a _little_ angry.

Did he mention he also hates ducks?

-----------------------

"Dude, if you don't do this you're never gonna be a man. You don't want to be a groveling little pansy the rest of your life, do ya?" says Dean with mocking disapproval.

Sam shoots a glare at his 16 year old brother, who stands at his side smirking, toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. Dean may be an jerk sometimes, but as kid brother Sam can't help the hero worship he has for him. Dean is what he aspires to be, but probably wont ever reach. _You're just not capable of that level of cool, _he tells himself.

Kyle, the kid Dean has been hanging out with everyday since they got to this town, is standing at his other side snickering. _He doesn't think I'm gonna do it. He doesn't think I can, _Sam realizes bitterly. Unfortunately for him, being the baby of the family also means it's ten times more important to prove himself to his brother than anything else in the world.

Even more important than complying with his self preservation instincts.

"I'll do it" he says steely, delighted the words managed to sound confident even though he's everything but.

----------------------------

The sounds of summer are drifting through the open window. Sam desperately wishes he was deaf. He can hear kids playing ball down by the corner, yelling distracting insults at their rivals. He can almost imagine Matt Kerring's black Chucks scuffing across the simmering blacktop to steal 2nd base. The roughhousing whoops and hollers of his brother and the other kids from their apartment building coming from below as their voices echo off the walls of the pool. Everything he can hear, but nothing he can touch.

Dean's been checking on him every hour, making sure he has everything he needs. But when it comes to the department of things to entertain himself with… its seriously lacking. He still hadn't managed to unpack all his belongings yet in the 2 weeks they'd been living here (not that he and Dean have that many things anyways) when "it" happened, so he has absolutely nothing to do. He would watch TV but he's not sure he could make it down the stairs to the living room without falling flat on his face or breaking his neck. With his crappy luck, those outcomes are far more likely than he's comfortable with.

_Treasure Island_ sits forgotten at the foot of his bed, nudged against a hunk of sickly white plaster that contains his temporarily non functioning leg. He had given up the book a half an hour ago. His brain was still fuzzy with the pain pills the doctor had given him, causing the words to just swirl around on the page, looking more like inkblots than actual coherent statements. It made him feel sea sick, which he supposed was fitting.

He wishes Dean would read to him like he used to. He could always make the words jump into life. It was like watching a movie, only better because of his brother's ridiculous facial expressions and his the terrifyingly _awful_ voice he used for girl characters.

_Dean hasn't done that in a long time,_ Sam sighs inwardly. The age gap between him and his brother has never felt wider. They don't spend that much time together unless dad orders Dean to watch Sam. And Sam prefers to not even get into how guilty that makes him feel. He wants Dean to do things with him because he wants to, not because he_ has _too. It was the whole reason Sam had jumped at the chance when Dean had asked him if he wanted to go with him and Kyle.

He goes for the pencil again, jamming down into his cast, trying to rid himself of the persistent itch that always seems to be in the same spot. _This. Sucks._

_----------------------------_

Sam cranes his neck to look at the his destination, the top of Fenton Hill, also fondly referred to as "Road kill Road". Half way up the hill (mountain!) he looses all of the feigned confidence he had managed to project earlier. He's walking right into his own demise. Each step up the seemingly vertical road is one more down his own death march.

He trudges alongside the bike, stealing a glance at Kyle and Dean. Kyle eyes him, the side of his mouth tugging up into a faint smile. It's not a friendly smile, it's the smile of a 15 year old boy plotting. Sam swallows hard.

Moments later he's at the top of Road Kill Road standing over his bike. He can see the whole town from here, the edge of the earth if he tries hard enough.

_You can do this._

"Alright Sammy, down you go_" _Dean says, making a swooping gesture with his hands.

Sam's knuckles turn white as he strangles the rubber handlebars. _You can do this. Don't be such a freaking wimp. _He peers down the steep slope, then immediately squeezes his eyes shut a second. _You can do… Oh who the heck am I kidding. I'm gonna die!_

"Guys, I don't… I don't think this is such a good idea" he stammers.

"Come on Sam." Dean says "It looks way worse than it actually is"

"Then why do they call it Road Kill Road?" he argues incredulously, his eyebrows arching.

"Why do you think _Sammy_?" Kyle half laughs as he spits out Sam's dreaded nickname. Sam feels his teeth grind together in response. "Kids eat pavement here more than anywhere. I heard it has the record for most kids scraped off the street." he continues laughing more heartily until Dean cuffs him on the back of the head.

"Kyle and I have both rode down it. Just hold on tight and you'll be fine" says Dean reassuringly.

Sam glances again down the hill. Drags in a deep breath. "Alright"

------------------------

Sam is dozing when he hears someone bounding up the stairs, the _thunk thunk _as each bare foot hit's the wood. He turns his head toward the noise to see. Suddenly Dean appears in his doorway, his recently grown out blond hair wet and plastered to his face by pool water. He stares at Sam a moment, his face blank. Sam's face is anything but, sending his _'Don't talk to me. Stay away or I'll melt your brain with the power of the sun' _vibe loud and clear. Dean turns away toward his room across the hall. He's closing his door, eyes turned downward, until he looks up at the last second, something flashing across his face until Sam is met only by a whitewash door.

Sam knows full well what that "something" is. That look is about as close to an "I'm sorry" as Dean gets. But Sam's 11 and the youngest so he's very good at holding grudges, even when he knows that what happened isn't really Dean's fault. Eventually the anger will wear down, but for right now, on his rumpled bed with his useless leg and wasted summer, he wants to hold onto it a little longer.

Maybe another hour or so. Maybe.

------------------------

He's so close to working up the courage but he cant quite grasp it. He's sitting on his bike, one foot on the petal the other tipped against the gravel road. Dean is standing at his side arms folded across his chest. Kyle at his other, impatiently shuffling from foot to foot. The sun is beating down on them, Sam feels a trickle of sweat go down the side of his face and then glide down the curve of his neck. His dark damp hair is sticking up in all directions.

He hears Kyle huff an annoyed sigh.

"Come on, just do it already! Or if you're too scared than lets just leave and get out of the freaking sun." his arms flail to punctuate his frustration.

"Shut up! I'm goin'. Geeze!" Sam yells, his eyes never leaving the road ahead of him. _Here's goes nothing. Or everything._

He hesitates, then sees Kyle out of the corner of his eye feint like he's going to push him. Sam flinches, his sneaker clad foot loosing it's hold on the ground. He lets out a yelp, and suddenly the trees that lines the hill are moving past him, slowly gaining in momentum, turning into a green blur. His heart starts beating in double time. It feels like it's going to bust out of his chest like something out of _Alien. _A cool wind is blowing past him, whipping his damp t-shirt around like a sail on the sea. He's gripping the handlebars so tight it feels like his fingers are going to fall off. He can see the spot where the hill flattens out approaching fast. _I'm going to make it_ he thinks, not daring to breath, fearing it might somehow be a fatal mistake.

Then he sees three white spots up ahead making their way across the road. _Wait-- that shouldn't…what is that? _he questions, his panic kicking up a notch. But, the white spots are getting closer, finally taking shape at the moment he's already to close. His eyes widen as he recognizes the three birds waddling across the street.

"DUUUCKS!!" he yells as he swerves his bike, narrowly missing the innocent animals. His new direction being the ditch the trails along the other side of the road. His bike lurches up and down on the rocky terrain, until his front tire hit's a small bolder, and suddenly he's flying. He lands hard and wrong and he rolls, gasping for the breath that was knocked out of him on impact.

Suddenly, everything is quiet as he lays completely still staring up through the trees at the painted blue and white sky. He can hear Dean and Kyle yelling for him, but the fire in his leg is preventing him from answering. He can feel tears stinging behind his eyes and he bites his lip hard to stop them. He doesn't want his brother and Kyle to find him crying, then they'll really think he's a baby. Their voices get closer, and then like magic they appear, standing over him breathing hard. Dean kneels down next to him surveying for damage, he hands stopping on his right leg. Kyle hangs back silently.

"Are the ducks okay?" Sam asks as his voice involuntarily hitches.

Dean lets out a chuckle.

"Yeah man, the ducks are fine" Sam nods. "Are you…are you hurt anywhere else besides your leg?"

"M'whole body hurts" Sam grits. He swears his leg is going to spontaneously combust. "Dean? M'leg hurts _really _bad" he says, his emotions of steel finally betraying him as tears leak from his eyes. _Crap. _

Dean's eyes soften. "Alright lets get you outta here, go get that leg looked at. I'm pretty sure it's broken. Dad's gonna freak"

Dean helps him sit up and Sam sees Kyle. He tries to glare at him but it takes too much effort, so he just closes his eyes. He hears Dean sharply say "Kyle get the hell over here and help me with him," then he hears leaves shuffling, followed by the warmth of a hand wrap around his upper arm to help him up.

Very, very slowly they stagger home.

--------------------------

When he wakes up in the hot room he can hear people talking downstairs. At first he doesn't recognize them. Cant be dad, he's still working that poltergeist job the next town over. He strains his ears, isolating each voice. Kyle and Dean. _Duh, who else would it be idiot, _he chides to himself. Suddenly their voices stop and are replaced by the repeated thuds of a person climbing the stairs. Dean saunters into his room a moment later and sits in the chair by his bed. Sam glances back and forth quickly between Dean and the door he had just entered through. Something's up.

"What going on?" he asks hesitantly to Dean, who shrugs in response.

"Nothing, just thought you might be bored, so I figure I'd come and hang out with you for a while" he says as he reaches for _Treasure Island_.

"Really?" Sam asks surprised.

"Really." Dean says "What page are you on?" referring to the book.

"What about Kyle, wasn't that him downstairs?" Sam inquires suspiciously, ignoring Dean's question. Why would Dean want to hang out with him when he's got his new best buddy Kyle with his stupid bike and stupid hills?

"Yes, it was." Dean says simply, flipping through the pages of the book.

"And…?"

"And what?" Dean's eyebrow rises as he focuses wholly on his brother.

"I mean, wouldn't you want to go out and do things with Kyle instead of being stuck in here with me?" Sam can hear his inadvertent, but genuine animosity for Kyle seep into the question.

Dean sighs and puts the book down on his lap.

"Sam, I could've gone to play baseball with Kyle if I wanted to, but I didn't. I wanted to see you." Dean fixes a calm even stare on Sam, making sure he understands. "Besides Kyle's an asshole, and I don't like to waste my time on assholes. Especially ones that mess with my family. I told him to get lost."

"Oh" Sam can feel a warmth rising from somewhere inside him at the realization that Dean ditched his friend for him, to stand up for him. "Sorry." He means it.

"What page?" Dean asks again, the corner of his mouth curling as he lifts up the book.

"Um… 34, why?" Sam says slowly.

"Why do you think doofus, you want me to read to you or what, cause if you don't I can hook up the TV now." he says still flipping to the page.

"Wait---huh" Sam asks, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

Dean looks up from the book smirking. "Wow, those meds really did a number on your deductive skills, huh?"

Sam only stares back, his expression answering the question. Dean sighs.

"I thought I should hook up the TV in here for ya, instead of you trying to climb down the stairs. Do. You. Understand.?" saying the last part slowly. Sam smiles and nods. "Good. Now do you want me to read or what?"

"Heck yea--Um, I mean sure. That's cool" he says shrugging, hoping to come off casual, while inside he's jumping. Dean smiles, of course seeing right through him, as he kicks up his feet on the bed and settles in the chair.

"Alright, here we go; "But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him. There were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for glasses round, and force all the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house shaking with "Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum"…."

_Maybe _Sam thinks, _the summer wont be such a waste after all._ And he closes his eyes to listen as his brother's voice fills the room. The air finally cools allowing the breeze he had been waiting for all day to trickle through the open window, parting the billowing curtains.

The end.


End file.
